Chapter Nine: Reflections (Part One)
Merle reflects on the events in his life that have led him to this moment. He wonders what could cause him and Mitch to be so different. They both grew up with drug-addicted parents and had crappy childhoods, and yet Mitch seemed to have done something with her life while he stumbled and faltered at every chance he got. Her daddy's heroin habit killed him off while his Ma's drinking resulted in her turning into crispy barbecue that night she passed out on the couch while smoking. Her Ma occupied her time with booze and random men while his Pa kept busy with hooch and hookers. She had her uncles while he had Uncle Jessie,who would come around the trailer and help pick up the slack once Ma died. The biggest difference was that he had Daryl and she didn't.
Daryl. His baby brother. The person, other than himself, he cared most for in the world. The person he kept fighting to survive for. The only family he had left, the only family he ever really had. And yet, he had failed him, over, and over, and over again.
He remembers hating Daryl for the longest time. Ma really only picked up the pace with her vodka obsession shortly after Daryl came into the picture. Sure, she had had her weekly binges beforehand, but once there were two boys plus an asshole husband to take care of, the boozing became more of a nightly thing. It wasn't like she was an award winning mom to begin with, but seven year-old Merle noticed the rapid decline in her parenting and picked the easiest target to take all the blame.
It took until the time Daryl turned three that he finally started to accept him as his kin. Merle was then old enough to realize that Ma drank because of Pa and Pa drank because he was a failure. He figured that they only way the two brothers could survive would be if they stuck together. A lot of responsibility fell onto Merle's shoulders when it came to Daryl, and he initially resented it, hating always having the kid interfering with his activities. However, once Daryl could keep up with the pace, Merle found himself enjoying having someone to teach the fun things to. Daryl became the one he would spend his free time with. Going into the woods together, setting traps, tracking animals, and even hunting live prey were the things they truly bonded over. That, and reading their books which would take them away, even if only briefly, from their neglected home and negligent parents.
He did have his friends from school, but none of them seemed to have it as rough as him, so he had trouble relating to them. It also didn't help that he took out his pent up rage, built on the hate for his father, on the boys at school. After he pummelled the crap out of some kid Marty, when he was eight, kids started treating him differently. Only the tough "bad-boys" would dare befriend him because the rest were too shit-scared. Eventually, as he grew older, and subsequently stronger, the damage he inflicted upon his peers, the ones who dared step out of line around him, became more severe. In his heart he knew it all related back to the fact that his own beatings from Pa had become more brutal with each passing year. But part of him wanted to maintain the bad-ass image and he liked being respected by his boys, even if it was out of fear.
Merle shakes his head to get the image of Pa, looming over his body with a leather belt in hand, out of his mind. He can feel himself tense as the memory of his former self braces for the searing pain which will inevitable occur once the strap makes contact with the tender skin covering his back. And all because he gave Pa some lip or did poorly in school or forgot to do his chores or just looked at him funny.
The happiest day of his life had been the one where he had finally packed his bags and left that run-down trailer for good. Now, that day was also filled with regret. While he was able to escape the drunken, hardened, hateful hand of the Old Man, he subsequently left Daryl alone with that monster.
He always wondered whether or not that worthless piece-of-shit laid his dirty weathered hands on Daryl. Merle sure as hell never let Pa lay a finger on the kid when he was around, but between his stints in juvi, leaving for the military, then time spent in the big pen, he wasn't exactly home much. There were seven years between when Merle moved out and when Daryl was finally able to escape that hell-hole. Daryl never mentioned anything when he would drop in to visit. But, it wasn't exactly a topic to casually discuss over dinner. Dixon's weren't known as big talkers to begin with either, when it can to feelings anyway.
Merle lets out a groan as he runs his hand through his hair. He is filled with such remorse over leaving Daryl back then and from being separated from him now. He wonders where Daryl is and how he is doing. He knows Daryl is alive because Daryl is a Dixon, and only a Dixon can kill a Dixon. He is comforted by the fact that the kid is a survivor because he raised him that way.
The sound of someone entering the room jars him from his thoughts and it is only then that he realizes the outside light has faded and he has been sitting in the dark. He didn't think he had been reminiscing that long but is glad for the interruption. The Old Man and feelings of regret already occupied enough of his mind without him dwelling on it.
He smiles when he recognizes Mitch's shapely silhouette, now illuminated by the soft yellow light coming from the lantern held in her hands. He isn't sure whether or not it's the fact he hasn't gotten laid in months or if it's something about her, but he knows he wants to find out more about her, touch her, hold her, be with her, be in her...
Her soft voice interrupts his train of thought, "Sorry I left so abruptly... Told you, you could get up out of bed when I didn't even unhook your IV..." She moves to the left side his of his bed and methodically unhooks the tubing from the needle site, then wraps his arm with gauze, leaving the access point in situ, "I want to give you another dose in the morning before taking the needle out and switching to pills... if that's ok?"
"Ya sure..." Merle doesn't give a fuck about the infection, what he wants is something to kill the throbbing pain in his arm that has been steadily worsening since he last took those pain pills, "Got anythang for pain?"
"Oh... I guess I forgot to tell you. I left a bottle of T3's by your bed. You can take two every four hours or so. Just try not to take more than that... You'll fry your liver," she says as she hands him the pills and a bottle of water, which had been sitting on the table.
He swallows a couple pills then asks, "How's ya uncle doin'?"
"He's dying. Won't be long now," she shrugs her shoulders when she notices Merle's eyes widen in surprise at her cold words, "Don't mistake my bluntness for not caring. I love my uncle dearly. It's just been a long time coming. He's suffering and I don't have a lot of medications left to keep him comfy. Not that easy to come by these days."
"True 'nough" Merle nods in agreement. He watches as Mitch wanders aimlessly around the small room, her mind clearly no longer in the vicinity. He enjoys the sway of her hips and wants to reach out and grab her tight ass and run his hand along her long slender legs. He wants to keep enjoying the show she is unknowingly putting on for him, but he is overcome by a far more pressing matter, "I gotta piss."
Mitch is abruptly brought back down to earth by Merle's statement and she turns to look at him, "Sorry. I shoulda asked. Here I'll help you to the bathroom."
She moves toward Merle who has already got himself out of the bed and into a standing position. Sick or not, no woman was going to haul his ass around, "Naw I'll be fine darlin', jus show me the way." Compared to earlier that morning, he felt like a new man. It no longer felt as though the room was spinning around like some sort of merry-go-round from hell and he didn't feel on the verge of falling over. He still felt weak and tired, and his arm still hurt like a bitch, but he was starting to feel like Merle again.
"Alrighty. Just follow me," Mitch says. As she eyes Merle up and down, her eyes twinkle with mischievousness and her smile becomes more of a smirk, "Might want to wrap yourself up a little more. Otherwise little Dixon might make an unexpected appearance."
He had forgotten that the only thing he was wearing was the skimpy hospital gown. He gives Mitch a devilish grin, "Maybe he wants ta come out an' play," finishing with his signature wink.
Mitch coyly smiles back, "Only if his owner is up to it. Now come on before you spring a leak."
The two walk out of the bedroom into the small apartment. He sees, for the first time since his arrival, that it is indeed a very old living space but that it has been loving cared for and kept very clean, even in the middle of the apocalypse. To his right is a kitchen similar to the one he encountered when he first entered the building, but much cleaner. Much to his delight he sees boxes and boxes of food stacked neatly against the one wall. He wonders whether or not his hosts will share some of their wealth when they part ways in the next day or two, although he knows he will be taking some supplies with him, one way or another. The furniture occupying the remaining space is sparse but looks comfortable enough. As they walk by the door to the left of his room, he sees Owen sitting beside a bed, holding hands with the person buried beneath the covers.
Mitch notices Merle's gaze and quietly says, "He hasn't left Uncle Ed's side since this morning," as they head into the bathroom which is the next door down.
Merle examines the bathroom. Toilet, sink, shower-tub combination, blue and white tile. The only thing out of the ordinary is the fact that the room is lit by another lantern, this one looks to be battery-powered. Wanting some privacy he states, "Should be ok now by muh-self."
"Ok. Well the water doesn't run from the taps anymore but I put a basin in the sink so you can wash yourself up. There is a black bucket filled with water beside the toilet to pour down when you flush. Need anything else?" Mitch asks as she starts to leave the room.
Merle calls out, "Some smokes would be nice..." Knowing full well the chances of her being able to find such a luxury in these damned times would be a miracle. Now that his body has begun to recuperate, he can feel the effects of nicotine withdrawal that had previously been masked by his horrendous infection and amputation pain.
"You know those things kill right?" She gives Merle a wink and adds, "But I'll see what I can do," and Mitch leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Once again, Merle is left alone with this thoughts.